in September
I can’t tell if it’s the mouse in my room or my abortion keeping me up. I have tried suddenly turning on the light, I have tried banging against the wall, I have tried asking it nicely to go to bed. But it comes during the witching hours, and in the morning there’s no evidence that it was even here. But during the witching hours - somewhere between 3-6am - it’s definitely unmistakably a mouse in the drawer next to my bed working its way through the endless remnants of chocolate bars that live there. The thing is, I didn’t even really try to clean out the drawers properly. I just threw away the obvious half bars and wrappers.
And each night, as I lie on the mattress I have on the floor instead of a real bed, much to the dismay of most people who visit, and ask, why don’t you have a bed? Because I like the Japanese feeling, ok? But, each night in the hours that we know are the darkest hours if you’re not asleep, I think, tomorrow morning, I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll tape up the cracks in the cupboard doors at the end of my room which go deeper into the attic. I’ll fully sort out those drawers, because, actually I don’t need all those hair serums I bought once for £100 after a haircut that didn’t even suit me. Those serums that didn’t control the frizz, they just stuck clumps of my hair together. But they remain in my drawer years later, barely touched. I don’t need 25 dried up nail varnishes. And, I won’t ever wear - or untangle - any of those necklaces, will I.
But I don’t, the morning comes and I leave everything as it was and I hope for a better night sleep tomorrow. I always assume that enough cumulative bad nights sleep will lead to a period of untouchable 10 hours a night sleep to make up for it. I’m just waiting for that period. Anyway, I had the most sleep that I have had in my adult life last week when I was pregnant. I could sleep from 9pm-8am and keep going if I didn’t need to get up for a wee. And then I’d nap halfway through the morning, and I’d fall frozen and dribbly to sleep on the sofa when I got back in the afternoon. It was the only thing I could do well.
It happened so suddenly that if I wasn’t me, I would think that I was faking it. Because how could it be that I got two blue lines, and overnight, went from drinking three pints in the pub and going for a run in the morning, to a complete repulsion of tea, coffee and alcohol and barely able to muster a conversation. I’d been pregnant and not knowing it for weeks before my missed period. I went on holiday! I drank every lunchtime! I marveled at my slightly swollen, but surely just PMS boobs in a bikini. And then, during the course of an afternoon, I suddenly couldn’t finish my cup of tea, I suddenly felt the chemistry of my brain was different. And two days later, I woke with nausea and it came back every time my blood sugar missed a snack.
Everyone I know who has been pregnant talks about the tiredness. And I’d always think in my head, yeah yeah, we’re all tired. I know what it’s like to get up really early and be in and out of the city all day. I know tired. But I didn’t. Not like this, this was the sort of tired that you can’t override with caffeine. It’s the sort of tired that means you are turned down to your lowest setting and from there, you still need to be asleep. Everything became unmanageable, and everything I managed was a small victory for mankind. I kept thinking about the food I wanted to eat, but the most I managed to cook was a jacket potato and beans. I was unable to muster. That’s the best way to say it; and I’ve always been able to muster.
I took the tests on a Friday morning. My period was now five days late, and it was looking unlikely that it was because of the travel. Because, really, a two hour flight, and a one hour time difference probably hadn’t messed with my cycle as much as I internally protested it might have. The other explanation I had was that it was because I’d been on holiday with other women and sharing beds. I’m just so sensitive, I said, that I’ve probably taken on everyone else’s hormones so mine has gone haywire. I liked that reasoning. But, Friday morning came and still no blood. So I walked to the pharmacy to buy the tests, and it’s a trip I have done enough times in my life not to be too concerned about a pregnancy test. I’m used to the relief and mild annoyance that I spent £10 only to get my period an hour after taking the test.
Back at my flat, Frazer and Cindy were working on the other side of the bathroom door. And I skipped in, just going to check I’m not preg, lol, I said. I did the pee in a jar and put the stick into the jar method for some reason. I don’t know why, because previously I’ve just peed on the stick like you see in the movies. But, I did this method and I watched the end turn pink, and, within a few seconds, I watched two lines show up. And then I opened the instructions in case maybe they’ve changed how these tests work, and two lines means negative now, perhaps. But they haven’t. Because I was pregnant. I left the jar of urine on the side and put the test face up on the edge of the sink. I don't think I flushed the chain. I just opened the door and said guys, I’m pregnant. I cried a bit. I was surprised that I cried because whilst I was in the shop buying the tests - and a tube of toothpaste just to throw off the cashier - I thought in my head how I can’t imagine I’ll have an emotion either way. But I did. And then for about fours hours my body shook.
I said straight away to Frazer and Cindy how I couldn’t have a baby. I said straight away that I was going to have an abortion. And I went upstairs and called my sisters. Psyched myself up to call my mum. And sent a few mic-drop texts to friends to say, mate, I’m pregnant. I kept shaking. I didn’t cry again because adrenaline was coursing through my veins and blocking my tear ducts. Frazer made me eat some lunch and I was glad for something to bring me into the earth. I was glad to eat some vegetables. I was still shaking. The thing is, I thought today was going to be about the conversation I had with the boy I was dating last night. I thought today was going to be about processing the thing he said about not being sure he was ready for a relationship. Instead it was the day I walked back and forth from the bathroom to look at the two positive tests I left out because I needed to keep seeing them. Because I needed to keep checking.
Cindy did all the research for me. Because Cindy is a Capricorn and I am a Cancer. And Cindy knows I can’t even go to the post office when I need to. Cindy knows that the reason I don’t have an overdraft is because when I was a student more than 10 years ago, I didn’t manage to do the tiny piece of admin that would give me a student account. So I wouldn’t know where to find out how you have an abortion. Cindy did the research and wrote it on a post-it note for me. Just start by calling this number she said. So I did. A woman on the other side of the phone talked to me in a gentle almost-whisper. She knew that was exactly the voice I needed to hear. She made a phone appointment for me for the next week. I wrote down the reference number on the same post-it.
I went for a drink with Matt and Hollie that evening. I knew they would hold all the empathy in the world and then distract me. And they did. We drank pints and ate pizza and we made jokes about my condition. I still hadn’t told the boy, but I told them, and, halfway through the evening when their friend Kris joined us, I said, Kris just to keep you in the loop, I’m pregnant. And I laughed and I was still trembling. And Kris got up from his side of the bench, walked over to me and hugged me for a really long time and told me I’d be ok and my eyes filled up. And I’ll always think of Kris as an angel I was meant to meet that night to remember good. Kris walked me home and told me it was amazing what was happening inside my body. Kris let me realise what I hadn’t let myself do yet, Kris let me realise it was magic. And it was. And it is.
I told everyone I came across that week what was happening. When I wrote to a few of the people who employ me to teach yoga to cancel classes that clashes with appointments I said, I’m having an abortion so I’ll need cover for this class. I wondered if I was crossing professional boundaries. But I wanted everyone to know. And I wanted to be the change I’d like to see. And I read back their confused professional, but understanding, emails and I wondered if perhaps I just wanted other people to squirm a little, because I was being turned inside out as the days went by. I will be in pain but I need you all to know.
I told him the next day. On the phone I said; I’m pregnant. I loved saying I’m pregnant. He was good, and he was good - but for the first time, I said to Beth a week later, this wasn’t a story with a boy at the centre. This isn’t a story about that. I’ve lived a million lifetimes with boys at the centre and this was me. This was me. It’s just important that it is acknowledged that I told him on the phone and he was good, and he tried as best he could with the confusing messages I gave him about what I wanted him to do. It was confusing because unfortunately it changed as the moments changed, because the inside of my body was filling up with hormones that were working hard to build a life.
My week of crying began about 24 hours after I had found out I was pregnant. There were all these different ways that the tears came; quiet and peaceful fat watery tears that rolled down my face and made my collarbones wet in the mornings; accidental tears that filled up my throat and cracked my voice halfway through an unsuspecting sentence; harrowing visceral sobs that claimed the nights and soaked my pillows - congested my nose before sleep; movie tears that could be wiped away from the corners of my glassy eyes my the edges of my little fingers. I wrote pages in my diary in scrawled, large jagged handwriting. I took pictures of my face in moments of it. Remember this. Record it. You have to remember.
The most unexpected part of being pregnant, but knowing I wasn’t going to have a baby, (for a million good logical reasons that don’t need to be written here) was the way my body responded. My mum said over lunch as I told her all the reasons that I couldn't have a baby, that this wasn’t a decision for my mind, it was for my heart. And I felt my heart align with my mind. But then, deeper than that, I felt my body growing more and more protective of the growing life. I felt my body more and more certain that now was the time to have this baby. Because suddenly my body knew everything to do without any instruction. My body was ready.
The most unexpected thing was how I went through all the motions I needed to, whilst at the same time, a deeper piece of me with the quietest loudest voice desperately wanted to stay pregnant. I felt cramps in my lower belly through the whole week and I googled it to see that cramps were common, they were because the lining of my uterus was growing and thickening, but I was nervous, what if I lose the baby? I was nervous to find blood when I went to the toilet. Even though I was doing what I was doing, I started to love what was growing in my body. I started to feel a protection I have never before known myself to possess. I started to feel maternal.
I am still bleeding now. Bleeding more than I ever have before and my boobs are still bigger and tender if I lie on my front. And I know I am not pregnant anymore. And I know that is the right thing. And yet still, I miss it. And yet still I am sorry I couldn’t stay with it. And the messages from last week of friends checking in everyday have fallen away. And no one is bringing me meals in tupperware anymore, or checking to see if I’d like them to bring me something from the shops. And no one is knocking on my bedroom door to see if I am ok. Because it’s done now, isn’t it? And I know this, I have dropped off flowers and chocolate in the acute moments, and then a week later carried on with my life. Because life goes on, life goes on. But now it’s still the centre of my universe and everyone is waiting for me to feel normal again. And I don’t know how to tell them that the reason I’m getting a tattoo on my arm is because I need it to be written on my body that everything is different now. Because, everything is different now.
How many days grace do you get with something like this until it’s only your light to carry? How many days do you get until you just hold it quietly in your heart?
For half a day I let myself have a baby. Beth said I could move in with her, Angela and Romy, and I imagined a commune where we’d grow tomatoes and I’d parent her child and she’d parent mine. I imagined holding a baby on my hip in a sunny kitchen as I made toast before handing over the baby to Beth as I go and teach. I imagined coming home to dinner that we’d take it in turns to make. For half a day I had a whole life. But then everything else that was true crept back in and I wondered whether the commune I imagined would be as easy as that. I remembered all the reasons that it wasn’t the right time for me. And I was scared again that this might be my only chance and I’d be one of those stories that I feel sorry for. Had a chance at 29 and then it never came around again.
Taking the first pill the next day was the most complicated experience of my life. A pill that looked smaller and more innocent than a paracetamol was about to play God inside my body. And I had to swallow it because it was what I was free to decide, it was what I had been free to decide was the right thing. And yet still, I didn’t want to. Danielle had come round with women’s tea, nurofen and a bar of chocolate, and I asked her to stay downstairs whilst I did it. I asked her to stay on my sofa whilst I took a pill that was going to do what it was going to do. But I needed her strength. So she stayed and I went to my room. I knelt on the floor and lit a candle, I said a prayer in a whisper and swallowed the pill as my hand trembled. I cried again straight away because I was sorry. I was so sorry about it all. And I went downstairs and she hugged me for a long time and I made us a cup of tea.
The rest of that day was the worst. I couldn't get back off the sofa except to heat up some leftover curry. I watched episode after episode of season four of Sex and the City and everytime there was a gap, I grabbed for the remote because I knew that day couldnt have silence. We watched The Body Guard after that, and it failed to move me. And then I got into bed and Cindy text asking if I wanted a hug. I did. More than I had ever wanted a hug and she came into my room and we hugged and cried on each other's shoulder for a really long time. And then she left and shut my door and I let the animal of my body cry for what it had lost.
It is possible, I now know, to have an abortion, and it be the right thing, but to still love what it is that is residing inside of you. It is possible because I did. The next day was so sunny and I couldn’t bear to go outside, even though I had till 3pm to take the rest of the pills. So I cleaned the bathroom and mopped the kitchen floors. I looked at my phone and lay down in various places until it was time.
The experience of my abortion was a labour of sorts. For six hours I went into a vortex where it was all that existed. I made this strange decision to not take the codeine that the hospital gave me. When, doubled in pain Cindy said, take the painkillers now, I said, yeah I have. Even though I hadn’t. Because I knew I needed to feel it. Because I knew. And there’s no right way to have an abortion but I needed mine to be that big. I needed to feel that human, I needed to be allowed to be that primal for that was the only way to honour physically what was happening emotionally. So it was. The realest hours of my life, the most painful, but the most important.
Halfway through, I was lying on the sofa in an altered state of consciousness from the pain, Cindy sat beside my head and didn’t stop stroking my hair for a really long time. I said, will you be my maid of honour? She said yes and then we didn’t say anything else. There were still no other words. When I remember it now, it’s something like a dream, but I like to think about how I was held with enough love that I wanted to say that.
Once the worst was over, Frazer, Cindy and I watched Titanic in stunned silence. I ate a bowl of rice and clutched a hot water bottle and had the experience I have every time I watch Titanic where I imagine this time they will slow the boat down, this time they will listen to the warnings of icebergs. But they never do. I didn't cry at the end or feel much at all. I took my codeine before I went to bed, hoping it would knock me out. But instead I lay awake listening to the mouse rustle in the draws beside me until 4am. And somewhere around then I fell asleep for a few quiet hours.
I knew I’d miss it once it was gone. And I wonder if I will miss it a little forever. And I did, I missed the protection I built in a week and I missed knowing there was something greater than myself happening. But I woke up and felt like myself again. I woke up knowing I’d be ok, even though this would always be true. Grace told me on the phone that sometimes you have to make a choice that is saving yourself. And Becca told me over Whatsapp that my life is precious too. And I believe it. And my politics will forever advocate a woman’s right to choose. But there, amongst all of it, is the tiny conflict of doing something that is right, but that isn’t as simple as a choice for your brain. There, beyond all the ideas I had in my head about what it might be like to have an abortion, ideas that I’d thought about for years as any sexually active woman does, there was the complicated web of what it actually means to experience it.
So, now I have, and now I continue to. And I understand something I had never needed to understand before, I understand something that doesn’t have words. I got to experience something that showed me round the back of life. And for that, I’m forever changed.
So now, it’s just me and the mouse in the depths of the night. I still haven’t seen it and Frazer asked, do you think it’s real? Do you think it’s actually there. And I don’t know. But I wonder if it’s come to keep me up for a reason. I wonder if it’s just that those hours of the night are for me now. I wonder if those hours of the night are where I make peace with the life I denied. The life that taught me how to live my own.